


Serbian Snow

by ko_writes



Series: Fandot Creativity Night - 09/05/15 [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Douglas Whump, Fandot Creativity, Gen, Martin Crieff Whump, Past Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3908656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: If I could do it all again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serbian Snow

   The day Douglas' luck finally ran out was the day Martin Crieff came to an end.

   It didn't end with a whimper, not really; but a bang.

   All his fault.

_You think you’re this invincible pilot, but things go wrong for _everyone_. _

   All his fault.

   Martin had fought to the last, even as the fatal wound spilled crimson onto plain white cotton. It just wasn't enough.

   He wasn't enough.

   As the assassin, sent by a betrayed 'friend', held out his gun; Martin thought Douglas Richardson was worth saving. And Martin's blood made the Serbian snow pink.

   His last words "I'm sorry". That hurt him the most.

   Two little words; so meaningless, yet meaning _ful_.

   As the clean-up crew removed the stained snow - whether the pure snow tarnished with pure blood or made a saint's relic because of it, he doesn't know - he thinks about his own gun, in it's holster, he failed to use before Martin gave up his life for him... And he feels sick.

   He's trapped now.

   He just wants to _die_! But Martin died to keep him alive.

   It's painful, but that's how it works.

   The assassin lays dead on the concrete, his brain splattered against the wall. It does little to help the pain; it seems vengeance is useless.

   He sits in the cold Serbian snow, a handful of the last pink flakes and a uniform soaked in his friend's blood.

   He cries. And even his tears feel cold.

   If he could do it again, he'd have succeeded in slitting his wrist as a teen.


End file.
